Page 101 of The Perfect Rom-Com

“Everybody here is horrible,” I whisper. “All of this . . . it’s just . . . one big, straitjacketed monopoly.”

“Not all of it. Florence Peters, though, doesn’t have the freedom to take you on. That’s why I kept hinting to you that she wasn’t a good fit.”

“Yeah, because she’s a ‘morning person’ you said, not because, oh, I don’t know, she’s part of some underground publishing ring.”

“She’s not out to murder you,” Jack says. “The unfortunate fact is, publishing is a business. It’s a business just as much as, if not more than, it is an art—to everyone’s disappointment. The Benedict family has ownership over Artemis.”

“Yes, but this is Media Row.”

“Different imprint. Same ownership.”

“Then we try Havanna.”

“Same ownership.”

“Curtis,” I say heatedly.

“Same ownership. And they can refuse working with whomever they want.”

“Then I’m stuck.” I throw my hands out. “Artemis owns everything.”

“Not necessarily. It’s just tricky. You just happened to enter the innermost circle of one of the most powerful families in the business. And then, unfortunately, you were so good at what you did, you went off and became irreplaceable.”

I scoff. “Those are strong words when Amelia likes to say the absolute opposite about me. To my face.”

Jack frowns at me. “And when did you start the terrible habit of believing her? She’s the world’s biggest liar.”

“No. I think that title belongs to you.” I scoff. “Look, Jack, this has been terrific, but I have to go. And if I haven’t made it clear enough, I want you to leave me alone. Consider this my official termination—”

Jack’s face twists. “Bryony, don’t be like this. We’re just scraping the surface here. This is going to take some time to explain—”

“I don’t want explanations, Jack. Really, I don’t.” I shake my head.

He’s getting to me.

I can feel it. Feel myself slipping.

Five more minutes of conversation with this man and I’ll be back under his wing, inside Amelia’s coop.

“If you were honest with me and really had my best interests at heart, you would’ve shared this—all of this—with me a long time ago.” I move toward the door, then cringe inwardly, remembering I left my jacket hanging on the seat.

Forget it.

It’s a casualty in this battle.

“It’s not that simple.” Jack picks it up and trails after me. “I didn’t know most of this until recently.”

“You work with her. Her,” I hiss, pushing the door open. “What kind of person are you for working with someone so—so—”

“Deceptive? Color me deceived myself,” Jack says. “Again, Bryony, most of this, I didn’t know. Of course I knew she was a handful. We all do. But it wasn’t until lately, as I was trying to get you out of this mess—”

“But you knew some of it.” I wheel around. Look him in the face. “Tell me this, Jack. Did you send out my manuscript this past year? To anyone? At all?”

And at this his face falls.

And I know my answer.

“I have a plan. Just trust me. Please.”